© Bruce Goodman 9 August 2015
Maribella was horrified. Biddy’s husband hadn’t been buried for two months and already Biddy was cavorting around like her husband hadn’t died. Two months! Biddy had joined the Forest and Bird Society and she went off on a hike wearing the most technicoloured cardigan under the sun. It was a disgrace.
Maribella’s husband had died over three years ago, and Maribella maintained a dignified composure. She had, at a great niece’s wedding, added a little slither of purple fabric to her otherwise black outfit. Apart from that, she knew how to behave as a grieving widow.
“You are a disgrace!” said Maribella to Biddy. “A disgrace!”
“There are only two things you can do when someone dies,” replied Biddy. “Either you can wait to die yourself or you can get on with it.”
“Well, unlike you,” said Maribella, “I loved my husband.”
Biddy was hurt by that but said nothing. She trotted off to the next Forest and Bird Society’s hike as sprightly as a fantail; as colourful as a parrot; as song-filled as a thrush. Of course she missed her husband. Of course she did! But she wasn’t going to make everyone else go into mourning.
What a wonderful image of life lived as it is supposed to be: ‘She trotted off to the next Forest and Bird Society’s hike as sprightly as a fantail; as colourful as a parrot; as song-filled as a thrush.’ 🙂
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Thank you, Pauline! That comment has made me flit from branch to branch!
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It goes without saying that this was ingeniously concocted….but I’ll say it anyway. It sets me to thinking….
that the world is full of people telling us how we should feel. Blame Biddy and praise Maribella, or blame Maribella and praise Biddy—-it’s all the same judging of feelings based on appearances, not necessarily reality. It’s a wonder any authentic feeling can thrive anywhere anymore.
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Yes – that’s true indeed – I think. This story was partly based on my mother’s next-door neighbour. When Dad died the neighbour informed Mum that the difference between the two of them was that she (the neighbour) loved her husband!
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Everyone is an authority on how we should feel.
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The two things I dislike the most in life: being told how I feel, and being told how I should feel.
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Hope you tell them to go ruffle someone else’s feathers.
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Or tell them to get plucked.
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Now I’m the one laughing out loud!
Cackling like a hysterical hen.
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No need to be a raven idiot.
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You two are clucking comical!
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Cock-a-doodle-do to you too!
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Too late for that. I’m very comfortable in my cuckoo’s nest.
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I was going to say something really fowl but then thought, duck it, waddle I care?
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Yeah, it’s probably best before you too start sounding like a quack.
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Quack…. Quack…
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Chk, Chk…kaboom!
Smells like canard à l’orange!
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I hope you’re doing the cooking.
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Right on! But when you’re very young it’s most hideous because you confuse those two things, start trying to feel the way you should feel, think you do feel that way even if you don’t, and get truly screwed-up with all the resulting double-binds and inner turmoil of the conventionally well-adjusted…. especially around the subject of love.
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Unfortunately, I’m forever young!
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True, that, Cynthia!
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Love this! The wonderful fluttery vs dowdy imagery; symbolism. Beautifully descriptive in all ways.
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Thanks, Susan. Greatly appreciated!
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Maribella is one jealous old coot. Life is for the living meant to be soaring in the skies and shouldn’t be spent lamenting in the nest.
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Mourning can be difficult to Swallow.
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Especially when you spend the rest of your life dressing like a crow.
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I am still laughing out loud at this one!
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Oh for flock’s sake!
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Poor Queen Victoria, ‘The Widow of Windsor’, comes to mind.
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I thought of that when writing it! Also the Duchess of York:
Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow’s nurse,
And I will pamper it with lamentations.
That’s the Duchess of York in Richard III and not Sarah Ferguson!
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Everyone handles grief differently – Biddy’s husband probably didn’t want her dressed all in black the rest of her life!
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Yes – anyway, these days black doesn’t necessarily mean mourning….
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Wearing all black could as easily mean you’re a freshman at Art School…especially if you also have green spikey hair…
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Oh my. A good story and some truly insightful and hilarious comments. Get clucked, indeed. 😉
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Thanks! I shall perhaps have to start banning puns!
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Naaah!
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If there is anything after death (and I’m open on that, although leaning heavily towards not), and if the departed are aware of what the living are doing (ditto, with brass knobs on), then I wonder how a departed husband, who loved his wife, would feel about her withdrawing from life to an existence of sadness and mourning. If I go first, I want my wife to find happiness wherever, however and with whomever she chooses, and not to wait for ‘a decent period’ before doing so.
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Agreed! I would like those I leave behind to feel free to live how they think fit – Heaven/Hell or not!
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I think Biddy has the right idea … life’s too short and we only live it once.
Bruce – I read your last comment posted on the Carroll thread and absolutely take your point but I have removed it because of the profanities. Call me a prude if you like but I don’t accept written language like that – you may have missed a post I wrote a while back on just this subject. Please feel free to edit it and come back!
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The profanities were not mine – they were Lewis Carrol’s!!!!
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Ha! Even so, my blog, my house style. Thanks for the explanation!
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I’m actually not interested!
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Fair enough. However, I’m mystified as to your comment re Flannery O’Connor – I think you may have me muddled with someone else – I don’t remember commenting, please point me in the direction so I can understand where you are coming from. I certainly didn’t mean to offend. That’s not what blogging is about, as far as I’m concerned.
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Ok Jenny – I call it quits. We’ll just quietly agree to differ (I hope) and get on with it. I DO enjoy your blog – and I think I should have simply shut my mouth. Please forgive my waywardness – and let’s just enjoy what each other contributes. Thanks. Bruce
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Your words are much appreciated – I too, enjoy my daily story from your blog. Agreeing to differ makes the world go round – wouldn’t do to all think the same, would it? Thanks Bruce, enjoy your day.
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OK – and thanks!
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“little slither of purple”
OK, where in heck does this word ‘slither’ come from, used in this way? (For me, as an example, snakes slither.) Excuse me for a mo’ while I see what good old Google says about slither used in your manner. (I’ve seen it used thus before, so I’m far from casting aspersions upon thee.)
Well, nothing appeared on my online search that clarified my questioning. I’d use ‘sliver of purple’, but I may be missing an enriching experience.
Can anyone give me the origin of this use of slither? I do love words, their meanings and origins.
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OK – I stand corrected!!!!!! It is sliver! A sliver of purple. However, having eaten humble pie, I now would like to expostulate on a favourite topic: it’s a living language; it grows and changes by every means possible, including misuse!!! Thanks for so politely pointing out my unfortunate usage. These things occasionally sliver in!
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I love it when people spar about words! On the one hand, Yvonne is right. Slither is a verb and for it to be purple and on a black dress it would have to be doing something…like slithering. Sliver is a noun, so it could be a purple thing and just sit there, doing nothing.
Sliver seems more correct, for purposes of clear communication, but slither is , well, weird and..poetic here….like a little purple garter snake on Marabella’s black dress….seems somehow appropriate and opens a whole can of….. images of things that slither.
( whenever I find myself having committed what could be a faux pas in diction, I don’t apologize, but mention that I have a poetic license to do so…..feeble defense, but there you go!)
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I shall make a stealthy change to the story. It will also make Maribella less of a stick in the mud! Instead of: “She had, at a great niece’s wedding, added a little slither of purple fabric to her otherwise black outfit.” it shall now read: “She had, for a great niece’s wedding, allowed a little sliver of purple to slither into her otherwise black outfit.”
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Dalí would be proud…
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Thanks – I shall wax the moustache.
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I really admire the way you slithered out of the minor dilemma and made the story even more enticing. You’re a clever old puss. (Or should I say “young”?)
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Well thanks, Yvonne. (I have a cousin called Yvonne – so we might be related!!)
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My long lost cousin Bruce! I’m overcome with emotion. 🙂
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Just hand over the family inheritance and cease to bother me!
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Nah, it must be another Bruce. Sorry.
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Not even a sliver of silver?
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Good for Biddy, I like her approach to life and death 🙂
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A happy old biddy!
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I was just scrolling through my “Comments I’ve Made” page and your post of a couple days ago came up and gave me another good laugh. At the top of the comments is the following title:
Maribella Was Horrified by Bruce Goodman.
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That is hilarious! It’s only just after 5 am here and I don’t want to wake anyone else by laughing out loud! Story Number 651 by the same author could be a giggle as well!
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Great story as ever. Love the picture too.
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Thanks. A little bit of Corel Paintshop goes a long way!
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Thank you for liking my poem Hunchy Lumpy Darlin on my blog, WordMusic. Coming from such a clever writer as you, it is quite the compliment!
Brent Kincaid
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